


Rumour Has It

by lilaspitt



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I get one idea and derails from there, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Patrick isn't a bad guy and he's trying his best okay, Post-Season/Series 01, Sometimes I start a story and even I don't know how it's gonna end, This took me a lot longer to write than I'd like to admit, no beta we die like ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilaspitt/pseuds/lilaspitt
Summary: If Allison wanted to avoid him, fine, but at least he could say he'd been mature about it at the end of the day.Or Patrick and Allison meet up after the events of Season One to talk.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Patrick
Comments: 13
Kudos: 78





	Rumour Has It

Allison had rarely called Patrick in the last week, unless she wanted to speak to Claire, often getting her siblings to talk to him in her place, but he knew she was there, hovering in the background somewhere. When he asked them to put her on the phone, they always gave some kind of excuse, “She’s just gone upstairs,” or “She’ll be back in a minute,” or “She’s talking to someone else right now.” It became all too obvious she was avoiding him.  
  
He had thought she was being petty, after the call when she’d been at her father’s funeral. It might have seemed harsh then, especially given that she hadn’t been skipping on any of the other therapy sessions, but ultimately it was Claire’s safety on the line. Surely she could see that?  
  
So he’d arranged, through Diego if he remembered right, to meet up, without Claire obviously. Patrick would be the adult here, and if she decided not to talk, then it was on her. All he wanted to know was how Claire would be affected by Allison’s latest manipulation.  
  
He saw her heading down the street, wearing an oversized dark green turtleneck jumper. He wasn’t sure why that stood out to him, but it did. She didn’t greet him, but sat down in front of him, watching him carefully.  
  
She was waiting for him to start; he realised. Patrick sighed and said, “Not even a hello anymore, Allison?” No reply. “Seriously? All right, if that’s how you want to do it. I don’t even know why you came if you-”  
  
She held up a hand, and that’s when he noticed that in her other was a notepad. Really? She was pushing it this far? He rolled his eyes, but leaned back, waiting to see what she’d do. She ended up flipping through some pages back and forth until she seemed to find the right one and held it up to him.  
  
**CAN’T TALK, NEED TO WRITE.** That didn’t make much sense to him. There was no way that she could have lost her voice for so long, but if that’s what she wanted to commit to, maybe to garner some kind of sympathy from him, then he’d let her try. He would not budge on their- no, his child’s safety.  
  
He cleared his throat and said, “Fine. Doesn’t make a difference. You’re still avoiding talking to me.” She pointed at the page again, her brows pulled together and gave him a frown. “On the phone, you make your siblings talk to me instead. You did this to yourself, Allison, I don’t see why you’re blaming me. I never made you rumour Claire.”  
  
He waited as she wrote something down, gripping the pen so tight in her hand he was surprised it hadn’t snapped and all but shoved it in his face when she was done. **I NEVER SAID YOU HAD.**  
  
“Sometimes,” he said, “the way you treat me like I’m the one in the wrong here, it makes me think you do. You manipulated my daughter. What kind of parent would I have been if I had just ignored all of that? God knows how Claire would have ended up if it had continued.”  
  
Allison had rarely talked about her upbringing when they’d been together, and, mostly out of what he’d thought was respect for her but was more likely her rumouring him, he hadn’t read her sister’s book. The biggest insight he had into her life was the magazines, and even he knew they were full of fabricated bullshit.  
  
He had met three of her siblings at their wedding. Luther had been nice, he supposed, but he had said little to him, or anyone really, and whilst he wasn’t in the background, he was too… composed that he couldn’t get anything out of him.  
  
Diego had been just as closed off to talking about their lives, but he had been bitter and uncomfortable. He spent much of the time at the edge of the venue where he could monitor everybody, and even though he knew Allison had asked, he was sure he’d seen the glint of the knife in one of his boots.  
  
Then there had been Klaus. Klaus had been a whirlwind. Allison had warned him about Klaus, and his habits, and that she’d asked him to come with nothing incriminating, and maybe he had, but one look at his bloodshot eyes, his pale and sweaty skin told him that if he was off drugs at that moment, it hadn’t been for long. He hadn’t been any more open than his brothers either but went about not talking about it with distraction instead.  
  
Reginald either hadn’t bothered turning up to the wedding or wasn’t invited. Allison had specified which, but she had hardly seemed disappointed by the result.  
Then there was Vanya. Vanya had never shown up, but he knew they had invited her. She was the only one that was never mentioned in the magazines or anywhere in fact. It had thrown him when Allison had admitted she had a sister who wasn’t like them.  
  
There wasn’t much he knew about her, except she played the violin and was quiet. If he was being honest, he didn’t think Allison knew much more about her than that back then.  
  
**HOW IS CLAIRE?** She at least looked earnest, asking this. He knew she loved Claire, even when she’d been acting she’d always taken the time to see Claire and he’d re-watched the interviews when she talked about her and the pride in her voice. It was undeniable.  
  
“She’s good, yeah,” Patrick said, “She misses you, I decided not to tell her about all of this yet, but uh-” a question rung through his mind, as it had the night he’d seen her rumour Claire, “god, Allison, why did you do it? She was our daughter, and if you were struggling, you could have told me.”  
  
She shook her head and made to place her hand on his, but he pulled back before she could. The hurt showed on her face momentarily before she covered it.  
  
Her eyes flicked back to him, then to her notepad, and she began writing. She paused sometimes, tapping her pen against the paper with a furrowed brow, before going back to whatever she had written.  
  
**THERE’S NO EXCUSE FOR WHAT I DID, AND THERE’S NO WAY I COULD EVER MAKE IT UP TO CLAIRE. I SHOULD HAVE NEVER RUMOURED HER. I THOUGHT ANYONE WITH MY POWER WOULD DO THE SAME. THAT I JUST HAD AN ADVANTAGE. I HAD ALWAYS USED IT BEFORE, WITH MY SIBLINGS, MY FATHER, MY JOBS.**  
  
He shook his head. She was right there really was no excuse. “She was our daughter.”  
  
He grabbed his jacket and pushed himself to his feet. He was about to go when he heard a raspy, barely audible, “Pa-” and turned back to see Allison with one hand to her throat, and one hand reaching out to him.  
  
So she hadn’t lied about the sore throat then, but if she had a sore throat then why go along with the meeting to begin with? He wasn’t so cruel as to make her do this if she was sick, surely she knew that.  
  
“All right,” Patrick slowly lowered himself back into the chair, and she did the same, lowering her hand from her throat, “Allison, if this isn’t a good time, we can rearrange, you know?”  
  
**IT WILL NEVER BE A GOOD TIME. NOW IS FINE.**  
  
“Wha- what does that mean? It’s a sore throat, not a...” She held up a hand, and he trailed off. She started flicking through the pages, back and forth, until she settled on one and turned it around.  
  
**NOT HERE. NOT NOW.** She flicked through again. **I KNOW A PLACE.**  
  
He sighed and looked around. The street was mostly empty save for a few people sitting around, engaged in their own conversations, or people walking by, and no-one close enough to listen to what they were saying or, more realistically, what he was saying.  
  
He looked back to Allison, anxiety playing on her face, her fingers toying with the ends of her sleeve as she waited for his answer.  
  
He knew what his answer would be already. If he wanted to get anywhere with Allison, he needed to know what was going on, especially if this would continue further down the line and affect her therapy sessions.  
  
He nodded and this time they stood up together. She took the lead, taking alleyways, shortcuts and back roads until they were standing in front of an empty butcher's shop.  
  
She grabbed a key out of her trouser pocket and unlocked the door, stepping inside. He followed, shooting one last look to the street outside, and let the door close with a resounding thud.  
  
He was alone with Allison. “Explain.” He said.  
  
She nodded and pulled the neck of her jumper aside. A perfectly white bandage was stuck to her throat. He walked closer, slowly, and reached out to touch it.  
“What-” he croaked. “What happened? Did someone attack you?”  
  
She put her notepad down on the counter behind her and, instead of answering, slowly peeled back the bandage. A perfectly straight pink line scarred her throat.  
  
He almost threw up but stumbled back in horror. All this time he’d been so angry she hadn’t dared speak to him and thought she was being petty. He thought she was trying to garner sympathy by acting up a sore throat when, in reality, someone could have killed her.  
  
Noticing his horror, she quickly pushed the bandage back and grabbed her pad, writing quickly: **DON’T. IT WAS MY FAULT.**  
  
He choked. “You’re- you’re own- someone tried to kill you, Allison! How the hell do you think you deserved that? You can’t even talk. Shit, why didn’t you say?”  
  
**I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO THINK I WAS USING THE SITUATION TO GET BACK TO CLAIRE. IF I WANT TO GET BACK INTO HER LIFE, IT’S BECAUSE I DID THE RIGHT THING, NOT BECAUSE YOU FEEL SORRY FOR ME.**  
  
In a lot of ways, it made sense, and it showed how far she’d come from the woman she’d been. He had no doubt the Allison that had rumoured Claire would have done something by now, but she’d been quiet on the press front, and had had no one mention it to him, until now.  
  
She was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. “Would you ever have told me if I hadn’t arranged the meeting?”  
  
**ONE DAY. AFTER THE THERAPY SESSIONS.**  
  
When she’d finally be awarded visitation of their daughter. When she would have had to admit it and explain to Claire, too. No warning, probably.  
  
“I-” he needed to think about all of this and just what it meant going forward.  
  
She could no longer rumour anyone, let alone Claire, so it seemed unless her throat got better. She couldn’t speak on the phone to him and had to have other people do it for her.  
  
“We’ll have to meet up again,” Patrick said. Allison’s eyes widened. “So we can talk about all of this, and how to explain it to Claire- Don’t.” he saw her reach for her notepad, “Let me finish, please. You still do the sessions, you’ve got a few more sessions, anyway. This changes nothing.”  
  
Except it did. It changed everything. There was no way that if the court knew she could no longer talk they wouldn’t allow visitation because she’d no longer be seen as a risk.  
  
She gave him a nod. **I KNOW.** She’d scribbled something out underneath, but he couldn’t make out what. **I’LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO GET BACK TO OUR DAUGHTER.**  
  
That he knew too. “I better go, Claire’ll need picking up soon. Why don’t we meet up again next week in the same place to talk some of this through better?”  
  
**SOUNDS GOOD TO ME. BYE, PATRICK.**  
  
“Bye, Allison.” He headed to the door with her by his side. He still had one last thing to say. “Oh, and, for what it’s worth, this,” he motioned to her throat, “never should have happened to you. You deserved better than this.”  
  
She smiled, but whether she believed it, he couldn’t tell. She pointed to BYE, PATRICK, and he closed the door behind him.  
  
That had gone far better than he had expected.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone who decided to read all of this.


End file.
